


Truth and Lies

by Dragonlingdar



Category: The Voice (US) RPF, The Voice RPF
Genre: Angst, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Bumblefuck USA, Closeted Character, M/M, Shevine, Slow Romance, UST, lawyer!miranda, preacher!blake
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-25 01:02:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4940692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonlingdar/pseuds/Dragonlingdar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A car crash and a snow storm traps superstar Adam Levine with a back country preacher who might just be the inspiration he's been looking for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story began taking form before the Miranda and Blake split, and I like Miranda anyway. Blake and Adam alternating points of view. I make no money from this and I'd be horrified if either Adam or Blake read this. Also, looking for better title because mine is terribad.

Adam was used to waking up with pounding headaches, and was, to an extent, also used to waking up in a stranger’s bed. What he was _not_ used to waking up to was country music. True, it was soft and surprisingly on-key without using auto-tuning, but it was still country music and, god, was country music annoying.

Adam struggled to sit up, if just to snap at someone to turn the noise off, but a wave of nausea and vertigo hit him and made him slide back down with a tortured groan.

The music abruptly stopped, which was a good thing, but he didn’t like that it was at the expense of his physical well-being.

“I wouldn’t move too fast if I were you,” a masculine voice said in a country drawl. “Doctor wasn’t sure if you had a concussion or not, so told me to make sure you take it slow.”

 _Concussion?_ Adam thought hazily. _Why the hell would I have a concussion?_

“What were you doing drivin without a seatbelt anyway, son? You’re lucky you didn’t go through the windshield.”

Adam bristled at the diminutive and looked—carefully—around for the speaker. Thankfully, the man was approaching him, which gave Adam time to look him over.

He was taller than he (Adam) by a couple inches, he’d guess. Short-ish, wavy brown hair peppered with silver. Blue eyes, a pleasing amount of facial stubble, and dimples when he smiled, as he was doing just then. It was a rugged sort of handsome, because Adam would admit that the man was, indeed, handsome. The man was wearing a blue plaid shirt, the first two buttons undone, and worn-in jeans. He oozed charm—but not the smarmy kind—and something about him was instantly likable. Adam felt himself wanting to smile as well, which was annoying.

“Who are you?” Adam demanded. “And where am I?”

“I’m Blake Shelton, and you’re nowhere you’ve ever heard of,” Blake replied good-naturedly. “Think you can take some water? The painkillers’ll help that headache you probably got.”

“Of course I can,” Adam said and pushed himself further upright, ignoring the dizziness that swept over him.

It was harder to keep the water down than he thought it would, since every part of him throbbed with pain in time with his heartbeat.

“Don’t you know who I am?” Adam asked once he knew he’d be able to speak without throwing up.

“Do _you_ know who you are?”

  
Adam frowned sharply. “Of course I know who I am. Why wouldn’t I?”

“The crash I pulled you from was pretty bad.”

“Well, I’m Adam Levine,” Adam proclaimed and waited for the typical awed/excited reaction.

That never came.

Blake simply nodded and said, “Guess that means no memory loss.”

Adam stared, slack-jawed in surprise. “You really haven’t heard of me?”

“Should I’ve?”

“I’m—yes, yes you should’ve! You have to have heard at least _one_ of my songs.”

Blake laughed, and the laugh matched his smile. “Not ‘round here, son,” Blake replied. “The only songs the radio plays are country or decades out-of-date.”

Adam grimaced and his hand instinctively reached for his cell, which was, of course, nowhere on or near his person because the universe hated him.

“You have my cell?” Adam asked, stopping Blake as he was about to stand. Blake shook his head as he sat back down. “You totaled everythin in the crash, almost includin yourself. God was lookin out for you, that’s for sure.”

“Okay,” Adam said slowly. “Do _you_ have a cell I can use?”

“No point in havin one when the service seems dependent on the humor of the weather,” Blake said with a shrug. “The missus has one, but that’s because she travels a lot. We have a landline, though, if you wanna use that.”

Adam stared. “No cell phone service?”

“You’re in one of the holes in the coverage maps.”

Adam groaned. “I haven’t used a landline since I was, like, sixteen.”

Blake laughed again, and the sound was warm and homey. “It hasn’t changed any since then. Who do you need to call? If you gimmie the numbers, I can probably contact them to let ‘em know you’re not dead.”

Of course Adam had people he needed to call, but he didn’t actually _know_ their numbers. That was what the cell phone directory was for. Why waste brain space on something that something else could take care of?

“No?” Blake asked when the silence stretched too long, concern lacing his voice.

“No, no, I do. I just, uh, don't have their numbers memorized.”

Blake hummed and stood. “If you give me their names I’ll ask the missus to see if she can find them before the internet cuts out.”

“What? Why would you lose internet?” Adam asked, the very prospect nearly unthinkable.

“We got a bad snow comin our way. Now, stay here and try not to move—still don’t know how bad of a shape you’re in. I’ll see if Carson can swing by this way again.”

“Carson?”

“The local doctor.”

“Don’t you have a hospital?”

Blake gave him a wry smile. “Bless your heart, you’re such a city boy. The closest hospital is two hours away on a clear day and ignoring speed limits.”

“Two _hours?”_

“Sounds like our mystery man is awake.”

Adam looked around Blake to see a woman standing in the doorway. She was the kind of woman who could roll out of bed and look beautiful, all blonde hair, blue eyes, flawless skin. She was wearing worn-in jeans and a comfortable, overlarge sweater and made it look _good._

Adam had to wonder where one found such a beautiful creature in what was apparently Bumblefuck, America.

Blake stood to meet the woman Adam assumed was Blake's wife, judging from the wedding bands, and gestured to indicate Adam. “Miranda, this is Adam. Adam, meet my wife, Miranda.”

“Hi,” Adam said, sounding rather dumb, in his opinion.

“Does there seem to be any damage?” Miranda asked, walking in to stop at Blake’s side.

Blake gave Miranda a quick kiss before saying: “Dunno. Was thinkin of havin Carson take a look now that Adam’s up.”

“Carson is likely a town over finishing the rounds and the sky looks like it’s going to burst any minute. We’ll just have to watch over the patient ourselves.”

Blake frowned. “If it’s gonna be that bad, maybe we should—”

“Don’t worry, honey, your flock is well aware that our home is open to them all.”

Blake didn’t look relieved.

Miranda stood on tip-toe to kiss Blake’s cheek. “Have a little faith in their self-preservation instincts.”

“Flock?” Adam repeated incredulously. “What, are you a cowboy or something?”

Miranda smirked as Blake laughed.

“I’m the minister of the town’s church,” Blake explained.

“Which also happens to be the only church for miles,” Miranda added dryly.

“The Lord sends servants to tend to all people, no matter where they may live,” Blake said smoothly.

“I thought priests couldn’t marry,” Adam half-asked.

“ _Catholic_ priests can’t,” Blake clarified. “Other Christian clergy _can_ marry, something that I’m grateful for,” Blake said and kissed the top of Miranda’s head.

“Okay,” Adam said, torn between amused and annoyed at how physically affectionate the couple was.

“Go make sure everything’s secure,” Miranda told Blake. “It’s looking like the weathermen are going to be right this time.”

“Remember, you’re restin,” Blake told Adam.

Adam was about to retort, but his comment was short-circuited by Blake affectionately ruffling his (Adam’s) hair. Adam swatted away Blake’s hand, which made Blake chuckle before leaving the room.

Once Blake had descended the stairs, Miranda pinned Adam to his spot with her gaze.

“Listen, pretty boy. _I_ know who you are. Trouble better not be hot on your heels.”

Adam bristled.

“Once the storm has passed and we’ve dug ourselves out, I’ll find a way to get you back where you belong,” Miranda continued.

“Thanks,” Adam said in a sarcastic drawl.

Miranda smiled tightly. “Be glad Blake decided to find out if anything still moved in that car you wrapped around a tree.”

She left and Adam scowled at the covers.

Perhaps going on a cross-country trip for inspiration for songs was a bad idea. His manager had said as much—emphatically—but Adam’s records hadn’t been selling like they should’ve. It had been for both their sanity that he’d left the bright city lights behind. Now, he was beginning to think that crazy in the big city was better than isolated in Catscrap.

His body and head were hurting a little less, though, so that relief was welcome.

He sunk down under the covers and sulked at the ceiling. He had no doubt that Miranda would follow through on her promise of getting him out ASAP, though, so all he had to do was wait a few days and then he’d be a free man again.

Too bad he was so terrible at waiting.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A car crash and a snow storm traps superstar Adam Levine with a back country preacher who might just be the inspiration he's been looking for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did mention that the story was going to switch back and forth between Blake and Adam, right? This time it's Blake's perspective. Next will be Adam's, etc., etc. I was surprised to discover that most of the comments were on my *writing* style. Huh. Thank you all, I'm glad you like it.

“He’ s a very good-looking man, isn’t he?” Miranda said as Blake shook snow off his shoulders.

“Good-lookin? He’s flat-out sexy now that he’s no longer pale as a sheet and covered in his own blood,” Blake responded.

Miranda smiled wryly. “Point.”

The experience had convinced Blake all the more firmly that God worked in mysterious ways. He had been feeling a little blue, driving back from saying last rites over a dying woman when he had happened upon the crash. The sleek, expensive looking car had no place driving on a barely-paved back-country road. It was more luxury than most of the residents of the area would ever dream of being able to afford, and its gorgeous frame had been nearly fully wrapped around a tree.

Its owner had likely skidded on a patch of black ice and, considering the tires probably weren’t meant for handling snow, the driver had lost control. It looked bad, all twisted metal and broken glass, but Blake _had_ to find out if anyone was alive.

He had gotten out of his truck and carefully picked his way to the wreckage, trying not to hold out hope for survivors—finding a corpse would only depress him further.

So, he was astonished to find the lone occupant bleeding and unconscious, but breathing. Blake had maneuvered the limp form out the driver’s seat and into a bridal-carry, the man’s head lolling against his (Blake’s) shoulder.

Blake sent up a quick prayer and arranged the unconscious form as comfortably as possible in the passenger seat of his pick-up.

Miranda had been understandably wary when Blake returned with an injured, strange man, but Dr. Carson had been in the area— _thanks be to God_ —so had the man come and check the injured stranger.

“Whoever he is, he’s a lucky son of a bitch,” Carson said as he checked the man’s pulse. “Saw a car wreck on the way here—bet that was his, right?”

 _It’s nice to be able to save someone’s life,_ Blake mused as he left his boots near the back door.

“Do _you_ know who he is?” Blake asked as Miranda handed him a coffee-laced whiskey.

Miranda hummed. “I do. He was probably being a diva, pitching a fit over something stupid, so he got wasted, drove off, and got lost in his compromised state.”

Blake frowned. “Think someone’ll come looking for him?”

“Probably. He _is_ quite famous.”

“Guess fame ain’t everything,” Blake murmured after taking a sip of coffee, the heat of the coffee burning his tongue as the strength of the whiskey burned his throat. “Not if you’re so badly lost.”

“What?”

Blake shook his head. “The animals and equipment are all hunkered down and we have enough gas for the generator to last us a while.” Blake paused and smiled faintly. “It’s nice to have a visitor, even if he don’t want to be here.”

“Nothing is keeping you here, Blake.”

Blake’s smile faded. “It’s safer for both of us.”

Miranda sighed. “I’m not saying we should move to a city or anything. Just someplace where you don’t have to drive half an hour to hit the next closest house.”

“Maybe. We’ll deal with that later.”

The comfortable silence was broken by a loud thud and a string of expletives that had Blake laughing and Miranda shaking her head ruefully.

“You tend to him. I still have a few things to research before we lose phone and internet,” Miranda told him.

Blake gave her a tight hug—which she returned—before they split ways, he for the upstairs spare bedroom, she for her office on the ground floor.

Blake found Adam glaring darkly at the offending throw-rug and Blake had the good grace not to laugh.

Even injured and ill, Adam was sinfully attractive in a way that made Blake nervous. He was nearly certain that Adam was the kind of man who had a string of broken hearts behind him, what with his toned physique, elaborate tattoos, brown hair that begged Blake to run his fingers through it, stunning hazel eyes, and a clean-shaven, expressive face that Blake knew would never be able to completely hide a lie.

“You need help, son?” Blake asked, which turned the black glare to him.

“My name is _Adam_ , not ‘son.’”

Blake held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Lemme guess—you want to know where the bathroom is.”

“You’re not going to follow me in, are you?”

“Only if you want me to. Just to make sure you don’t crack your head on the toilet or somethin.”

Adam snorted and extended a hand to Blake. “Just help me up.”

Blake wasn’t sure if he had overestimated his strength or Adam’s health, since pulling Adam to his feet also forced Blake to catch the slighter man against him. His arms tightened around Adam to steady him even as Adam tensed in the embrace.

“You okay?” Blake asked.

“Let me go and I’ll be better,” Adam muttered.

Blake did so, mostly, keeping a hand on one of Adam’s forearms to steady him.

“Let me go,” Adam commanded.

“Not until you can stand on your own,” Blake countered.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re barely stayin upright.”

“I’ll be _fine_.”

Blake feared that he found another person he would have to out-stubborn.

Blake stepped in and slid his arm around Adam’s waist before tugging him towards the bathroom. “This way.”

“Goddamnit, let me go.”

“Not if you’re going to use the Lord’s name in vain,” Blake answered primly, which earned him an increasingly-familiar glare.

When Blake ended up making sure Adam didn’t faceplant for the fifth time, he said, “Maybe I _should_ go in with you.”

“You’re just making things harder,” Adam snapped. “I’d be fine on my own.”

Blake snorted, but stepped aside, letting Adam go. “Fine. It’s the door on the left.”

Adam straightened his spine, gave Blake a haughty glance, and managed three steps before he staggered into the wall, a hand going to his head.

“Just because the painkillers are makin things hurt less don’t mean you’re better,” Blake commented.

“Shut up.”

Adam slid down the wall, both his hands going to his head as he groaned.

Blake’s smugness at being right promptly evaporated and he moved to kneel at Adam’s side. Adam’s eyes were squeezed shut, and from how he was tilting heavily on the wall meant that the world was probably spinning for him.

“ _Now_ are you gonna let me help you?”

“Shut up,” Adam said, his words slurring.

“You’re not gonna puke on the carpet,” Blake said and slung one of Adam’s arms over his (Blake’s) shoulders. Adam’s eyes were unfocused when he opened them, and even though he protested when Blake scooped him up into a bridal-carry, his head fell into the crook of Blake’s shoulder, he nearly clinging to Blake.

It took some ingenuity, but Blake eventually figured out how to open the bathroom door while carrying Adam, and he placed Adam’s feet delicately on the ground, helping him straighten to standing. There were enough pieces of furniture to lean on that Blake was fairly certain that Adam would be able to keep his feet under him long enough to take a piss, or whatever he wanted to do.

Blake closed the door for Adam, but didn’t move from the other side, just in case Adam did something like collapse. Blake leaned his forehead on the polished wood and closed his eyes.

It was terrible, how good it felt to have Adam in his arms. Of course he was used to carrying and caring for other people, and he was naturally a very tactile person, but that had felt different, and not in a good way. It seemed like Adam was exactly the thing he had been dodging his whole life, and now he was going to be in close quarters with him, likely for days.

 _It’s just God’s way of testing me,_ Blake told himself as he listened to make sure Adam’s forehead didn’t connect with the sink. Once he heard the toilet flush and the faucet turn on and off, he stepped back enough for the door to open.

Adam’s grip on the doorknob was white-knuckled, but the look he gave Blake dared him to comment.

“If I’m going to be stuck here, you’re going to show me around,” he said, and Blake couldn’t help but smile.

“Don’t think you should be bossin around your host, but, fine,” Blake said. “But we’re goin slow and you’re leanin on me.”

Adam took two cautious steps out of the bathroom and said, “I can walk on my own—you don’t have to baby me.”

Blake’s smile grew. “Okay, son. I’ll give you the grand tour.”

“It’s _Adam_ ,” Adam growled, and Blake laughed before running his fingers through Adam’s hair.

“Sure. Follow me. I’d introduce you to the animals, but they’re all tucked in and safe from the storm. Maybe once the weather’s all settled down and you can trust your feet more.”

“It’s not me that’s the problem, it’s the ground that has to stop acting all weird,” Adam grumbled as he swatted Blake’s hand away.

“A course,” Blake said with charitable disbelief.

Their house wasn’t large, but it was larger than most in the area—which, admittedly, didn’t say much. The top floor was comprised of a master suite, a guest bedroom, a hall bathroom, and Blake’s ‘studio.’

The last was of most interest to Adam, he looking over the half-organized mess. The room was dominated by various guitars, a small stereo system, and a desk that was covered with sheets of scribbled scraps of songs and inspiration.

“You write music?” Adam asked, looking at a piece of paper, probably trying to decipher Blake’s chicken-scratch handwriting.

Blake hummed and placed a guitar back on its stand. “Yup. I test out my songs on the congregation, and they don’t mind. I think they like hearin my songs instead of the same hymns week after week. I try to debut a new song every month and a revised one every-other week.” Blake smiled wryly. “It’s not hard to tell which ones are good or bad or have potential. They’re a very opinionated group.”

“So, you write only Jesus stuff?”

“I write religious songs, yeah.”

“No love songs to your wife or anything?”

“My love songs always come out…stupid. Tacky. Miranda never sees or hears them.”

“I’m sure she’d like to. Girls like that kind of thing.”

Blake chuckled. “Don’t let her hear you call her a girl. She’s a _woman._ ”

Adam rolled his eyes, then had to promptly grab onto the desk to keep steady.

“You alright?” Blake asked quickly, taking a step towards Adam.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I’m fine. Care to give me a concert?”

“What?”

“C’mon, test out one of your songs on me. I’m a captive audience, too, y’know.”

“I’d love to,” Blake said and guided Adam towards the door. “But I want to know you’re able to appreciate my music, which means you have to be able to focus.”

Adam appeared unconvinced, but it seemed that he had to concentrate in order to put one foot firmly in front of the other, else court gravity.

The stairs proved to be too much of a difficulty, so Blake picked Adam—an actively and loudly protesting Adam—up again and took him down to the ground floor.

“We’ll get to the den and I’ll bring you some coffee.”

“What time is it?”  
“It’s never too early or late for laced coffee,” Blake said once Adam had his feet under him again.

“Laced coffee,” Adam said slowly.

“Whiskey’s good any time of the day,” Blake said cheerfully.

“I thought you religious types aren’t supposed to drink.”

“God gave us alcohol because He loves us and wants us to be happy,” Blake responded as he guided Adam to the den.

Adam took a dignified seat on the couch—but from how he slouched back immediately and the sigh that escaped him, Blake could tell the movement and concentration on _walking_ had taken its toll.

“The remote is near you,” Blake said. “I dunno if we’ll still have anythin, but it’s worth a shot.”

Adam made a sound of understanding as Blake went to the kitchen, Blake doing his best to keep one eye on the invalid the whole time. He didn’t know if internal bleeding or fractures or whatever other injury could occur in a crash as bad as Adam’s had been would manifest somehow, so he’d just have to pay attention to Adam’s body language.

Blake would admit that it was half an excuse just to admire the man’s physique, although he wouldn’t say that in Adam’s hearing range. Not yet, anyway.

Blake looked out the window to see snow beginning to come down in thick clumps and he rubbed his chin in anxious thought. Some of his congregation lived in…less-than-ideal conditions, and he always worried that a heavy snowfall would be their undoing. Still, they had lived here and braved the winters far longer than his four years, so he knew he shouldn’t worry too much.

_“Nothing is keeping you here, Blake.”_

Blake smiled wryly and turned to make Adam a cup of whiskey with some coffee and re-heat the one Miranda had made for him.

There was plenty keeping him lost in the country, and he knew Miranda knew that.

 _She’d say, ‘You can’t hide forever,’ but she’s doing the same thing, which is why she don’t say anything,_ Blake thought as he balanced the two steaming mugs.

Adam’s eyes were half-closed, his head tipped back to look up at the ceiling, which put his face in profile. Blake’s breath caught in his throat and it took all his willpower to drag his eyes away from the image. A part of him wanted to laugh in panic—he already was doing so, at least in his heart-of-hearts.

 _It’s okay to appreciate another person’s physical appearance,_ Blake told himself firmly. _Doesn’t matter if that person is male or female since both sexes are manifestations of God._

Blake set the cup of coffee on the table in front of Adam and took a seat beside him, doing his best to jostle the man as little as possible.

“How are you feelin?” he asked after a sip of his coffee.

“Like shit,” Adam said, opening his eyes. “I keep on trying to remember anything between leaving home and waking up in your bed—well, not _your_ bed, but you get it—but it’s all a blank.”

“Well, you might’ve been blackout drunk. I kinda remember seeing a bottle of something in the passenger seat, and there was glass from stuff other than your windshield.”

Adam appeared to think, although it seemed to cost him. “Maybe. I remember turning off a random exit to find a place to take a piss but….” He shrugged. “Nothing after that.”

Blake mulled over a thought, then said, “I’m a man of the cloth, so if you ever need someone to talk to, there’s no-one better than me.”

Adam shot him an incredulous look. “Look, Blake, I don’t need your help.”

Blake gave him a long look, then took a sip of his coffee. “Sure.”

The silence between them wavered between painfully awkward, resigned, and comfortable. Blake wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“What’s your wife do?”

“Miranda? She’s a lawyer.”

Adam gave him the most skeptical look Blake had ever seen, which made him laugh.

“What’s a lawyer doing out in the boonies?” Adam asked.

“People got arguments out here, too,” Blake said with a smile. The expression faded quickly, however—not that Adam noticed, absorbed in contemplating the faux-cocktail.

“Huh. A lawyer and a preacher. Wouldn’t’ve seen that match in a million years,” Adam murmured, taking a sip of the whiskey-coffee. He promptly started coughing and Blake had to steady Adam’s hands to make sure the hot liquid didn’t spill all over him.

“Can’t handle hard liquor, son?”

“Shut it,” Adam said through a cough. “That shit could wake the dead!”

“Who says it hasn’t?”

Adam glared at him, but a smile twitched at his lips.

Wind howled and snow battered at the windows, making Adam look at them nervously.

“We’re safe, don’t worry,” Blake said. “I cut down all the tress that coulda fallen on the house.”

“I’m not sure that’s reassuring,” Adam said.

Blake ruffled Adam’s hair and said, “It should be. You’re safer in here than anywhere else for miles, and we have a wood-burning fireplace if the heat fails.”

“From the trees you chopped down?”

“How’d you guess?”

Adam cracked a smile, which made Blake grin in reply.

Adam took another cautious sip and shuddered. “And you drink this _how_ often?”

“It’s always 5 o’clock somewhere.”

Adam snorted. “Let go. I can hold the coffee fine on my own.”

Blake withdrew his hands to pick up his own coffee.

“Are you always so touchy-feely with people you just met?” Adam demanded.

“Only with strange men who I save from the wreckage of the Maserati they wrapped around a tree.”

Adam grimaced. “Damnit, that car was _new_.”

“Better alive with a wrecked car than dead with a car in perfect shape.”

Adam nodded slightly, finding some merit in the statement.

Blake had to tug the coffee out of Adam’s hands before he spilled it on himself, the man having begun to lightly doze.

 _Well, he_ is _hurt,_ Blake rationalized. _And there’s probably somethin in the meds anyway._  
“Are you gonna pass out here? Cause I’ll start the fire going if you are, else I’ll take you back up to the bedroom.”

“I’m not being carried like a sack again,” Adam grumbled.

Blake gently squeezed Adam’s shoulder. “It’s good exercise for me.”

Adam snorted and shrugged off Blake’s hand. “Stop touching me.”

Blake happily appropriated Adam’s coffee for himself when it became obvious that Adam wasn’t going to drink any more.

“Shouldn’t be so tired—you didn’t drug that stuff, right?”

“ _I’m_ drinkin it too,” Blake pointed out.

“Right,” Adam drawled and rubbed his upper arms in an absent-minded attempt to warm up.

Blake finished both cups, deposited the empty mugs somewhere they wouldn’t fall onto the floor, then set about setting up a fire. He and Miranda didn’t use the fireplace often, the kitchen being their primary meeting place, and when Miranda was away he spent it in his studio, so it was nice to actually have it see use.

By the time Blake was happy with the blaze he had going, Adam was snoring, curled up on the couch.

Blake smiled and shook his head, amused. The man’s body was almost completely lost in a pair of Blake’s sweatpants and a shirt that had shrunk in the wash, but he somehow made them look sexy. It wasn't fair.

Blake dragged down blankets from the spare bedroom and cocooned Adam in them, giving him a pillow to use instead of the armrest. He admired his handiwork—both the warmly encased Adam and the roaring fireplace—then decided he might as well enjoy the fire, too. The couch was big enough for two anyway and Miranda was neck-deep in a highly controversial case that was being taken to the steps of the District Supreme Court, so she would probably only surface from her office when Blake began making breakfast.

Blake arranged more wood on the fireplace to last a few hours, then settled in on the opposite side of the couch from Adam, smiling faintly.

He had a hard time sleeping in his bed when Miranda wasn’t beside him—it felt like it was going to swallow him—and the couch was quite comfortable.

Adam was also a much quieter sleeper than Miranda, his snores barely registering as Blake fell asleep staring into the fire, wondering for what purpose God had brought Adam Levine into his life.


End file.
